ReCreation
by PippinStrange
Summary: Wendy Moreland's parents were murdered. The killer tried to finish her off and failed. Now that the CIA and the FBI own Recreation technology-it's time to re-open dozens of dead cases. Just as long as there is a survivor who has nightmares... R&R!


**This fan fiction is an experiment. Please join me in theorizing whether or not I shall continue, my guinea pigs. This will probably turn into an OC. BTdub. I don't know if this'll even be a long thing-I know I am posting a second chapter fo' sure.**

**Summary:**

**Wendy Moreland's parents and her best friend was murdered. The killer tried to finish her off as well. Now that the CIA and the FBI own Dream Sharing, Collective Dreaming, Extraction, and Inception technology-it's time to re-open dozens of dead cases. As long as there is a survivor who remembers the scene of the crime in their nightmares. **

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My dreams come to life in this strange government experiment.

They call it extraction.

I guess it used to be illegal, but nobody really knew about it except the professionals. Then the government granted forgiveness for the crime if these dream thieves began to work for them, instead.

Fast-forward six years. The CIA has utilized it for working on dead cases. In situations, like murder, usually there is someone who is emotionally scarred who was involved. They find that person, give them a drug that induces vivid dreams, and then slip the thieves inside—hoping you'll dream the face of the long-lost murderer.

If you're lucky, you see the murderer, the dream thieves profile them, and you have a working case again with a complete physical description.

There are problems with this, since dreams aren't always accurate. But that's not something I have to worry about. My dreams are always an exact recreation—second by second, blood by blood, of the night my parents were murdered—it happens at least once a week.

I don't even need the drug, only the technology to let other people in it.

I am desensitized to the scene while I am dreaming—I stare, knowing I've seen it before. It's only after I wake up that the smell of blood crashes into my senses… and I remember how to scream.

"Wendy," said the dark-suited official known as Mr. Barry, "We need you to sign this."

"Why?"

"We've had threats of being sued when someone dreamed something they didn't like. You've already agreed to let us attempt dream invasion in your case, but now you need to sign this line—here—which promises you won't sue us for something."

Numbly, I signed the dotted line. I'd dreamed the same dream so many times before, and they're afraid I'll sue them? It IS all about the money, isn't it?

"The case for your parents murder has been shelved for about two and a half years," said the man, "But given that our FBI division in Los Angeles finally owns the technology, we're ready to find the man and get a good look at his face."

"If I have never dreamed his face, how will you find his face in my subconscious?" I asked.

Mr. Barry pulled a graph out of his desk and handed it to me. "Do you recognize this layout?"

"It's my old house, where the murder occurred."

"That's right. Can you tell me what was above this small table?"

"My mom always kept her purse there."

"What was on the wall, Wendy?"

I paused. "A mirror."

"That's right," Mr. Barry said. "The mans face IS in your subconscious. You just didn't know where to look. When you walked in, and saw the bodies, you also saw… what?"

"I've told you already," I said tiredly.

"Tell me what you saw, Wendy."

"I saw the back of the murderer."

"Where was he facing?"

"The right wall, just in front of the door to the dining room and kitchen."

"His face will be in the mirror," he said, sounding rather pleased with himself. "That is our theory. We're pleased you're letting us test it. We'd like to get the guy who did this to your folks. Get it?"

"Yeah… yeah."

"I need to introduce you to someone," said Mr. Barry. He got up, opened the door next to the hat rack, and motioned someone into the office. "This is Arthur Shultz, he'll be advising the expedition. He's going to explain the procedure to you."

Arthur reached across the desk for a handshake. "Miss Moreland," his pale features spoke boyishly, but politely, under nearly black hair. He was an underrated handsome, almost child like. His hand felt cold.

"Procedure?" I clarified. "This isn't like… surgery, is it? I thought you said it wasn't like surgery?"

"It's not like surgery," Arthur said, sitting casually on the corner of the desk. "Here's what it's going to look like. You'll lie down and wear an IV. We'll all be hooked up to the same machine—that's dream sharing. So you won't be alone, there will be a team. You'll maneuver the dream just as you always have, step by step. But we'll be following. When you see the murderer, don't look at the mirror. You'll change the course of the dream and then, it may NEVER be the same again. We'll do the dirty work of actually memorizing his features in a very split second. Then, before something can go wrong, we'll get the kick."

"What can go wrong?" I asked, clenching my fists within the long sleeves of my sweater that was much too big for me.

"Your subconscious has security. And without my associate, Cobb, who was really the genius behind this technology—dreams have been much less concrete then they used to be during an extraction. Because we're creating the dream from memory—versus having an architect design a layout—we're in danger from barriers within your mind. Without even knowing it, characters may appear to protect your memories and try to hurt the dreamers. In a severe case, if someone dies, they'll be trapped in limbo forever and their body turns to vegetable in the real world. But usually as soon as something painful occurs the person wakes up, and there is no danger. The limbo thing… well, that's what happened to Cobb. But this isn't a multilayered dream, it is fairly simple, so we should be safe. Do you follow me?"

"Well… okay. Sure. Security. It makes sense. What's the kick?"

"The kick is how we wake up. Ever have a falling dream?"

I shrugged.

"The kick is a sudden motion that will wake us all up. It has something to do with the REM cycle—you know, like when you find yourself twitching before you're fully asleep?"

"This is mostly foreign to me." I liked Arthur's eyes. I was growing distracted. I suddenly feared my OTHER kinds of vivid dreams—what if I started dreaming of my old boyfriends on accident? And he was there to watch?

"You've signed all the papers? Made all the agreements? Got your totem?"

"Totem?" I asked confusedly.

"Oh, that's in the contract, guess you didn't see that." Arthur opened his briefcase and pulled out my contract. My curvy signature was signed in all the right places, but I think I missed a little small print. He opened the papers and pointed to a paragraph on page three. "Why don't you give that a skim?"

_The Dreamer is responsible for His/Her totem. This totem can be any kind of small token that is undetectable on His/Her person. It must, ALWAYS, have something unique about it that no one else knows._

_I.E.: A penny missing the date. A top that doesn't really spin. A seashell with distinct scratches._

_When your TOTEM is used within the dream world, it will appear different, and you can know you are truly dreaming. If someone is confused about whether or not they are dreaming, they can use the token to determine where they are._

_I.E: if the top never stops spinning, you're still dreaming. If the seashell is perfect, you're still dreaming. If the penny suddenly has the correct date, you're still dreaming._

_This means you are responsible of your KNOWLEDGE of your state, and DRAYUS INC is not responsible for your confusion. If you commit some kind of act that you regret within a dream, you cannot BLAME, SUE, NOR SKIP PAYMETS to DRAYUS INC, because you have the totem to check with before committing any kind of action._

"This looks like directions for a board game," I scoffed, handing the contract back to Arthur.

"Dreams are games that your mind plays," Arthur said briskly, ignoring my obvious disdain for the silly game directions.

I already knew what my totem was.

I carry it with me always, but I didn't know there would—one day—be any use for it.

I carry a small pocket watch around my neck, beneath my shirt. It's on a small silver chain. The watch itself is no bigger than a quarter. It no longer runs, forever frozen on three PM, with tiny orange water stains around the hands. My dad had given it to me. It had stopped running the night the killer came back.

It was barely a week after my parents death and I was staying with a friend—we decided to relax by the pool. The sun was setting—we agreed, because I was scared, to go indoors before it got dark. My friend Lacy ran indoors to turn on the lawn sprinklers. The second she was out of sight, a hand shot around my throat, dragged me to the side of the pool, and shoved me in.

He had come back to finish me off, afraid I had seen his face. He wore a mask. He pressed his hand against my head and held me under. All I could see was bubbles, my screams, the pressure, the darkness, and the crushing cold panic.

Lacy had run back outside, dialing 911 in her left hand and swinging a bat in her right hand. The killer fled before he could make sure I had drowned. Lacy saved my life.

Her body was found in an alley the week after I moved out to stay with my grandparents.

"Hey," Arthur snapped his fingers in front of my face. "Miss Moreland. Hey. Don't sleep yet, we haven't gotten started!"

"Sorry, I was picking a totem," I smiled sarcastically.

"Don't tell me what it is. You should bring it to the session."

"Unnecessary. I have it right here."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Something unique enough to serve as a totem?"

"It is as sure as heck better than the penny idea. Trust me."

If it begins to tick tock again, it means I'm still dreaming. I'll know for sure.

~

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**Thoughts and comments, please :) **


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